Tag: Drugs

In the dark night, while my eyes lay wide open, tossing and turning, fighting with the sheets and pillows, thoughts upon thoughts, worries upon worries, reasonings upon reasonings. In the dark streets where I walk in the corridors of dark alleys and […]

In the dark night, while my eyes lay wide open, tossing and turning, fighting with the sheets and pillows, thoughts upon thoughts, worries upon worries, reasonings upon reasonings.

In the dark streets where I walk in the corridors of dark alleys and back doors. Dressed to please you, yes you, who calls me beautiful but for a moment and a worthless escort when you are done. Yes, both of you.

In the broken down house where no cars dare to pass by, a house infected by mildew and the smell of dead rats. Where I escape to hide from the world, to sniff just that one puff of heroine, smoke that one joint I almost got killed over while running from the dealer I stole from.

Underneath my blankets when I rest my head only for my mind to drift and form images of attractive women caressing my whole form, mens pleasures, self pleasures.

In the daylight when I grab hold of that little girl and take away her innocence, when I force myself on a man or a woman to fulfill bodily desires.

In the judges chambers where I set my judgement–”death with no parole” to incarcerate the defenseless man for he has but just torn pockets.

In the office desk where I ask for bribes, inflate numbers, stash a bit of coin in my purse, use my power for self gain and make others wait on me like a king or queen. Yes you, your highness.

In the house where I beat my child, torture and starve her to death, insult her mother and threaten to set them on fire.

In the warehouses where I smuggle little children, drugs, guns and ammunition, women and men.

In the hospital where I pinch some morphine, fentanyl, diazepam, tramadol to get that release, that high, that doped.

In that crack house, filled with cigarette smoke, needles and condoms on the floor, red bulbs and flashing lights.

In that studio —on that canvas—on that paper—on those decks, where I create what is in my heart, where I share my passion, my pain, my hurt, my anger to the world.

In that hospital and home bed where I can no longer take the pain any more, where pain is all I feel, where my body is filled with wounds, bandages, all patched up. Where my head is shaved off and my legs fail me.